Before you go to sleep, you write your cold nightmares and paradise between the unhurried lines of your journal. The blue ink of your fountain pen slides and kisses the excited cream papers; a brewed ecstasy in a quiet evening.
Tonight, when you excuse yourself to see the city lights from your balcony, I slip into your bedroom to catch the words you have written the night before. As I flip to the last entry, I read the story of your struggles—you could not breathe as your visions became hallucinations.
I was your death in the scenario.
Your melancholic voice tears through my insides. I have no idea I suffocate your lungs; I forget to see your violet veins. I place your journal beneath your white pillows. The bed bends as I sit upon its soft skin. I hear your footsteps behind me. You call my name, but I drown myself with the fires of guilt.
Write me as your good memory before you lose me in your dreams.
WORD COUNT: 170
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.